


The Old Man and the Sea

by barghest



Series: Hoisting the Colours [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Extended Metaphors, Gods, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, M/M, Romance, sad shit and all that jazz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since before man walked on water with the aid of ships, Poseidon has been lonely. No human will touch him - save for one ship's captain, named after an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Man and the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> continuing work for the potc au ayeeee :v hope youre ready for some weird sea metaphors

When he was a child, Gabriel had asked his mother - what was on top of the ocean? And she would answer, why, the waves and the people of the sea, with their nets and their boats and their swords.

Gabriel would then ask - what was under the ocean? And she would answer, why, the fishes and the people of the sea, with their scales and their sharp teeth and their claws.

And then he would pause, and lastly he would ask - what lay at the bottom of the ocean? And she would answer, the treasures and the people of the sea. Every time he asked what she meant, she would only smile.

\--

By the time thieving on the high seas is commonplace, Poseidon is old. To call himself an old man would not be quite accurate - to call him a man would never do more than fit the persona he takes on to walk on land. Beneath the world's waters, he is formless and all consuming - he is the white foam that tumbles against the cliffs, more than he is a person. His fingers curl upwards towards the shores in the form of seaweed and coral, brushing the legs of mortals when they wade into his domain. In the dark of the trenches, he slumbers when the planet's turn wearies him, strange glowing creatures unseen by any human floating on the currents of his breathing. He is the ocean, as it is him.

As a consequence, he has little reason to walk on land. When his head breaks the surface and he pulls a human body together from ground up shells and blubber, they call him Jack Morrison. It is the name that flows most easily from his lips when he visits taverns and docked ships, feet soggy against the wooden planks beneath him. Something instinctual tells humans not to stray too close to him, not to look too deep into his black eyes, should they fall into them and awaken on the ocean floor.

Poseidon is lonely.

The companionship of fellow gods is few and far between - and, even then, he finds them tiresome, always complaining about the pestilence mortals have become, always with something to gossip about. They talk and talk and the sea stews around him, sometimes opening up like a great beast's maw in a watery (and otherwise unarticulated scream) for them to shut up. And then, troubles dispensed, they leave him, alone in his sunken palace. Alone with his thoughts. It has been a long time since he had found their presences fulfilling.

So he turns to land one cold winter, wet sand between his toes and a cloak sewn from the pelt of leopard seals around his shoulders as he ventures onto land for the first time in decades. He wanders aimlessly for first hour or so, letting the port's life envelope him, suck him in and fill him with the spark of life that ran in all humans. Even in December's cold grasp, he finds the streets busy with purpose, the traders swathed in extra layers that barely coat their wares. No one notices the bare feet, almost blue and translucent, beneath his cloak as he sweeps over the paving stones towards the warmth of a crowded tavern. No one will notice him here either, save for the sea salt on his breath when he orders a drink at the bar - but that is hardly an unusual smell, so close to the sea.

It is here Poseidon first sees him, on the other side of tavern's main bar, dark expression barely softening as he pays for another drink. The man is far more sober than the patrons close to him, all of whom act jovial and friendly - the same crew, perhaps. Poseidon has opened his mouth and swallowed whole many like them, and he will swallow many more before the earth is done. But the rough elbows and the scar strewn face catch his eye, the hard set mouth, black curls spilling over the crown of the man's head. His shirt is slightly open, and Poseidon can see hints of more scars, score marks for every battle that he has ever one. The man's hands are rough, angles chiselled by hard work and the sea. And it is here Poseidon finds himself intrigued.

\--

It is in one of the tavern's beds where they crash together like waves breaking in a storm, the evening sounds muffled below them. Poseidon is surprised by the tenderness of such calloused hands, by the fire with which he is pressed into the mattress, by the mouth that threatens to steal all breath from wet lungs. For the first time in his life, he is choking, gasping for air as he drowns within the man's grasp and then is dragged above the surface again. Over, and under, and over again - like the surf rolling in, and he is a human lying on the beach, letting it fill his open mouth as it covers him. 

He pulls a name from the man - Gabriel - that he barely catches before Gabriel's mouth meets with his again, stifling his breath and the rumbling that echoes from deep inside of him. He is thunder, in that moment. He crackles like lightning in a maelstrom, and cries out for air that a god should not need, and then he is swept under again. Gabriel is hands and teeth and eyes and taut muscles pressed against him, he burns to touch yet still he grabs a hold of the god so readily. He does not sway from Poseidon's eyes when he looks into them, instead holding his gaze and pressing them closer together.

When the storm dies, he stays, hands searing over Poseidon's cool skin. When the storm brews again, he sails straight into it, weathering the wind and the waves and the spray in all its sea salt glory. When the waters calm again, he stays and murmurs soft histories of himself into Poseidon's ear. Tales of mild piracy and torn sails, buried treasure and rum thinned with squeezed fruit to make it last longer. He allows the man he calls Jack to trace his scars, eliciting a smile that hides more than it tells when he stops on a particularly interesting on. A storm brews quieter, more summery, and he swims into it this time with gentle caresses, quiet words in a tongue warmer than the one they had been sharing. 

And it is here, that a god falls in love.

\--

Captain Reyes takes longer to fall. He is stubborn, a thick skin grown from years of being tossed about on the waves. The sea may have been kind to him, but people have not. His skin flushes underneath when he touches Jack, but he holds his heart back, only giving the lightest of promises as to when they will meet again. (And, despite his best intention to stay distanced enough for a hasty exit on the next tide, he fulfills every one.)

When he finally departs, he is surprised - the next port he enters, countries away, Jack is there at the back of a tavern as if he has been waiting all this time. Gabriel cannot hide his surprise, but Jack merely smiles, eyes glittering like the night sky in welcome. He could get lost in those constellations between Jack's eyelids, he knows. He could let his hands numb and fall off tracing the lines of Jack's hips too. 

The fourth or five port - he forgets to count - Jack finds him in, they lie together at night under the stars, the night air warm as summer creeps over the Caribbean. He links their fingers together softly, and Jack murmurs about how coconuts floated to these islands from Asia, about how there are beaches on this earth with black sand, about how there is a glow in Gabriel's heart that always draws him closer.

Gabriel almost wheezes out his confession, the moon appearing from behind the clouds. His throat is tight as he squeezes Jack's hand, their palms clammy where they touch. Jack is quiet for a moment beside him, breath stilling in his lungs.

"I have something I must tell you," is how Jack starts, his dark eyes soft when they turn to Gabriel, and it becomes all the more apparent that he has not just fallen, but is now sinking beneath the waves.

\--

He does not call him Poseidon. The god's chest lifts when Gabriel calls him by the name he walks with on land, the human seemingly uninterested in treating him as anything but equals. Even when Gabriel worships him, it is in earthly ways -offerings come from Gabriel's mouth, his hands speak his prayers against the god's skin. And in every moment, he calls him Jack. (He calls him other names too, softer names in a different tongue that call Jack his love, his life, his heart. With every breath Gabriel takes, the tide swells around the god's heart. He sees why the human shares a name with an angel.)

For five years, the seas are calm, gentle. For five years, they meet ashore at every port and the god allows himself to call the feeling 'heavenly' when they are in each other's presence. For five years, nothing is wrong.

And then, Gabriel steers his ship into port as autumn draws in, and Jack isn't there. It is here that man truly realises what it means to have a broken heart.

**Author's Note:**

> deliberate cliffhanger ending bc the resolution comes in another characters 'origin story'  
> rn im like, writing everyones beginnings in the au before i get to the main/current story bc stuff makes more sense to me this way. feel free to lemme know your thoughts! tumblr is mccreehaw and twit is (now) genjifluid :v


End file.
